


sugar, butter, flour

by angelsdemonsducks



Series: tumblr prompts [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, baking as a metaphor for love and acceptance, stealth lilo and stitch references, virgil pops in for about three lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsducks/pseuds/angelsdemonsducks
Summary: “Salt instead of sugar,” he says dolefully. “How did we both miss that?”Janus makes a strangled sound. And then, he laughs, short and surprised, and by the time Patton turns to look, he is already composing himself.“Clearly, our ingenuity in the kitchen knows no bounds,” he says, a slight smile still playing about his lips.Reaching out to Janus is difficult, so Patton falls back on what he knows: baking.
Relationships: Deceit | Janus Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: tumblr prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843297
Comments: 21
Kudos: 201





	sugar, butter, flour

**Author's Note:**

> For this tumblr prompt: 47. “That tickles!” And either moceit or royality please?
> 
> And I chose moceit because I will take literally any opportunity I get to write soft moceit.
> 
> No content warnings this time, I believe, because this is pure fluff and nothing else. Title from Waitress, because I needed something baking related and I couldn't think of a good pun. (Or you could say I kneaded something baking related. I thought of that, just now. Ha.)

Baking with Janus is interesting.

It’s become somewhat of a ritual, over the past few years, to bake with his family. He’s dragged Logan out of his room on more than one occasion to help with more technical recipes, the ones that depend entirely on precise measurements and proper stirring methods and timings. Roman, on the other hand, prefers the more decorative aspects, likes to bomb cookies and cakes with sprinkles and smother them in icing, or to craft sculptures out of fondant or chocolate. He wonders if Remus is the same; he intends to find out, sometime, as soon as he works up the courage to invite him.

And Patton remembers very well the first time he asked Virgil to come help him. He started with a simple recipe, chocolate cupcakes, but from the way Virgil’s face slid into shock, from the warbling, shaky tone of his voice as he asked Patton if he really meant it, really wanted him there, he would have thought that he was offering Virgil the world. And he’d felt awful, then, for rejecting Virgil for so long, and vowed that he would never have to feel so alone again, never have to question the motives behind something so simple as _baking_.

He’s not sure what to expect from Janus, the first time he broaches the topic.

It seems like the right thing to do. Thomas has accepted him now, or at least, is on the way there, and Patton is working on that too, is working to blur the lines of his black-and-white thinking into something greyer. And being accepted means being part of the family, and being part of the family means being included in activities, and that means _baking_ , and if anyone had asked Patton a few months ago if he would be excited to ask Janus to bake with him, he wouldn’t have believed them at all.

But he is excited. And nervous, because he’s not sure that he’ll even be interested. Somehow, he has a hard time picturing Janus in a kitchen, because Janus is always so immaculately groomed and kitchens get so messy. He tries to imagine Janus with egg on his gloves or flour on his shirt, and he can’t quite manage it.

He asks, though. Because he wants to bake with Janus. Wants Janus to bake with him.

And Janus says yes.

He does it with a curiously blank face, the only visible emotion a slight flicker in his eyes, and Patton has no idea what he is thinking at all, but he accepts, and allows Patton to lead him to the kitchen, and then, they make cookies. Simple, chocolate chip cookies.

It’s weird, at first. Awkward, and strained, and it becomes very clear very quickly that Janus has never baked anything in his life, and that only adds to the weirdness, because Patton has to tell him what to do most of the time. But he catches on quickly, and by the time they’re making the third batch, he seems to have the motions down, and they settle into a more comfortable companionship. Their conversation, too, changes, moving from the short and stilted talk of before to something that flows more naturally, and Patton finds himself relaxing. He hopes Janus is, too. He really can’t tell.

They make the cookies, and they all turn out well, but not too long after they come out of the oven, Janus excuses himself. His face is still unreadable, and Patton has no idea whether he actually had fun or not, and he’s not sure that he’s ready yet to ask him to stay longer, not sure he could stand receiving rejection. There is something forming between them, some new relationship, but it is so fragile and new that he doesn’t want to risk breaking it.

But as Janus leaves the kitchen, he calls after him.

“Would you want to do this again, sometime?” he asks, and Janus looks at him for a long moment before replying.

“I suppose I wouldn’t be opposed,” he says, and by now, Patton is better at sifting out his truths from his lies, and he can recognize which this is.

And then, Janus is gone, capelet flapping out behind him. Patton watches him go, and feels as if he’s won a victory.

A few weeks later, they do it again.

They follow the same pattern: Patton asks Janus to bake, Janus agrees without displaying any indication as to whether he actually wants to or not, and they slowly warm up to each other as the cookies turn a soft golden brown. And this time, because he is better prepared, Patton notices a few things.

The first is that Janus keeps looking at him, keeps stealing quick, subtle glances whenever he thinks he isn’t looking. And at first, Patton doesn’t think very much of it, except that those glances start to remind him a little bit of Virgil. Because he _remembers_ the first few times he baked with Virgil, remembers how cautious he was, how quiet, how he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, as if he thought that Patton would kick him out if he so much as put a foot wrong, or that he would shout if Virgil messed up a measurement or made too much of a mess. And the way Janus is acting isn’t precisely like that, but the similarities are too striking to ignore. There is a hesitance in his movements, and in the way he watches Patton out of the corner of his eye, as if he’s trying to ensure that he’s not doing anything wrong.

The fact that he feels like he needs to do that makes Patton’s heart ache, but he’s sure that if he tries to approach the topic at all, Janus will staunchly deny it. So he leaves it be for now, and hopes that he can demonstrate through his actions that the caution isn’t necessary.

The second thing he notices is far more fun, and it’s this: Janus bakes like he does.

One of the worst kept secrets in the mindscape is that Patton is not very good in the kitchen, much to his chagrin. He knows it, everyone knows it, Thomas probably knows it. He tends to take recipes as guidelines rather than as set instructions, and he gets distracted easily, leaving one thing to burn or boil over while he focuses on another. He does his best work while there is someone else with him to keep him on track.

He’s cooked or baked with everyone else enough to know their strong suits. Logan is all about precision and numbers, while Roman focuses on style and flair, and Virgil just tries to make sure that everything is sanitary and no one burns themselves or cuts a finger.

Janus, though, is remarkably like him.

He eyeballs measurements like Patton does, disregarding the recipe entirely when he thinks something else might work better, and he, too, is prone to distraction, perfectly willing to let Patton tug him in a new direction while the previous work sits forgotten, only to curse up a storm when something starts spilling or smoking.

Really, he’s no better at this than Patton is.

That becomes extremely clear by the third time they bake together. They are still doing cookies, though Patton thinks it might be time to try something else soon. Cupcakes, maybe, or a whole cake. But for now, they stand there, staring at the first batch, straight out of the oven.

“Well, those look… good,” Janus says, not even trying to hide his doubt.

Patton frowns at the cookies. Something about them is off, something about their color and size just slightly different from the usual. He shrugs, picking one up and breaking it in half, handing part of it to Janus, who regards it suspiciously.

“Won’t know what’s wrong until we try it,” he says, and Janus lifts an eyebrow.

“Won’t do much good to know what’s wrong if we poison ourselves,” he says, but lifts the cookie to his lips anyway.

They take a bite at the same time. Patton feels his face twist, and Janus stops chewing as quickly as he started, his eyes blowing wide. They stare at each other for a moment, and Patton shudders, forcing himself to swallow. Janus, on the other hand, elects to grab a paper towel and delicately spit out the bite he took, tossing it and the rest of the cookie in the garbage can.

“That,” Janus proclaims, “was the most _delightful_ thing I have ever eaten. And I have had _Remus_ attempt to cook for me.”

Patton winces, turning to inspect the ingredients, still laid out on the counter. They have another three batches’ worth of dough, but they won’t be able to use it, not if his hunch is correct and they’ve used—

“Salt instead of sugar,” he says dolefully. “How did we both miss that?”

Janus makes a strangled sound. And then, he laughs, short and surprised, and by the time Patton turns to look, he is already composing himself.

“Clearly, our ingenuity in the kitchen knows no bounds,” he says, a slight smile still playing about his lips. “I can take these to Remus. I’m sure he’d love them.”

Patton agrees, mind not lingering too long on the Remus thing, because the word _our_ rings in his head over and over again. _Our ingenuity_. Proof that Janus does want to be here, that he considers this to be an activity that they do together, rather than something that Patton drags him into. And his chest fills with warmth, warmth and something that feels like sparkles and rainbows, and he can’t help but beam.

Janus looks a bit taken aback, but he returns the smile, if shakily.

And, well. After that, there is no way that Patton is going to let Janus go. They graduate from cookies to cupcakes to cakes, and then to more complicated things, different types of pastries and creams and things that would probably work better if they had Logan there to help them, because only about one in three products actually tastes anything like it’s supposed to, or is edible at all. But it’s not the end product that’s the point, it’s the time they spend together, muddling their way through a complicated set of instructions, or giving up on that and winging it, turning the kitchen into something more approaching a disaster zone, a mess covering every surface.

And gradually, Janus seems to grow more comfortable. Allows himself to smile, and even to laugh, and every time Patton teases such a reaction out of him, he feels warm and bubbly all over. Slowly, somewhere between the meringues and the ganaches, they fall into a friendship, and Patton is elated.

And that friendship gives him courage to do things he never would have dared to do before, even if he wanted to.

“Here, you’ve got a little something,” he says, and before Janus can react, he wipes a bit of flour onto his nose.

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, isn’t sure why he’s doing this. But the flour was there, and so was Janus’ face, and the desire to see what Janus would do was too strong to resist.

Janus freezes, his tongue flicking out. It tastes the air a few times, and then curls up to brush the tip of his nose, and immediately, his expression crashes into one of utter betrayal. His face scrunches up, and Patton can’t hold back his giggles.

“Really?” Janus says. “Well, as it turns out, you also have a little something—”

And he flicks flour at Patton in return.

From there, it is war, of course, and the baking itself is all but forgotten, the ingredients for their cake batter sitting out on the counter, gradually being coated with a fine layer of flour as it gets tossed back and forth between them. Patton has never seen Janus look so undignified, with white powder dusting his hair and all over his clothes, a delighted grin on his face as he pelts Patton with all the flour he can get his hands on, as well as the occasional glob of batter.

“Stop it, stop,” Patton manages, between breaths and fits of laughter. “That tickles!”

“Does it?” Janus says, and backs Patton up against the counter. With one delicate swipe of his hand, he brushes a thumb down Patton’s nose, covering it in flour. He resists the urge to sneeze. “Too bad. Vengeance is sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” Patton says, the words spilling out of his mouth without permission, and _oh_.

Janus’ eyes go wide. Patton is suddenly very aware of the position they’re in, of how _close_ Janus is to him, of how his hand is still hovering next to his face. And Janus must realize it, too, because there is a blush rising on the right side of his face, pink blooming on his skin.

But he doesn’t step back. And that’s good, because Patton finds that he doesn’t want him to.

“I—” Janus says, for once at a loss for words. “What?”

“I mean that,” Patton says. “I mean, it just kind of slipped out, but I meant it. You’re really sweet, and nice, and I really like to spend time with you.”

Janus’ hand shakes where it hangs in the air. Patton wishes he would close the gap that lies between them, bring it just a few inches closer and touch his face again.

“I,” he says, “I suppose I—”

“Oh my god,” someone says, and Janus springs away from Patton as though he’s been burned, and Patton does his level best not to feel disappointed. Virgil is standing in the entryway to the kitchen, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. The expression on his face is something approaching horror, though Patton doesn’t know what they’ve done to deserve that reaction. “What are you doing?”

Inexplicably, Patton feels himself blush. “Baking,” he says, and his voice comes out high and squeaky.

“Building a shelf,” Janus offers, completely deadpan. Patton can’t help but laugh a bit at that, still riding the adrenaline of moments before, and somehow, that doesn’t seem to settle Virgil down at all. He rocks back and forth on his heels, still looking between the two of them. His mouth works for a moment, but he says nothing, and Patton is just a bit concerned.

“Um,” he says, and steps forward so he’s not leaning against the counter. “Can I get you something, kiddo?”

Virgil shakes his head, and begins to backpedal out of the kitchen. “Uh, no, no, I’ll, um, I’ll grab something later, and um. Go. I’m gonna go. You guys um. Carry on, or whatever.”

“So glad to have your permission,” Janus drawls, but Virgil is already gone, all but dashing away, and Patton thinks he hears him muttering under his breath, thinks he catches the phrase “like walking in on my _parents_ ,” which just makes him blush harder as he risks a glance over at Janus.

Who is looking back at him, his lips lifted in a way that can only be called _fond_.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then, once again, Patton finds himself laughing, because he loves this. Flour and batter all over them, all over the kitchen, and there is something buzzing in the air, something that smells like possibility, and Patton feels warm all over just looking at him, looking at Janus, messy and ruffled and more human and beautiful than he has ever seen him, with flour streaked across his face and batter on his gloves. He is so glad that Janus is willing to do this, is willing to open up, to suffer a bit of indignity, to trust him just a little bit more.

“Shall we finish this cake?” Janus asks, and it sort of feels like he’s asking something else.

Patton glances around the kitchen, at the mess they’ve made, and grins. “Yeah, I think we should,” he says, and they do.

And when the cake is finished, it’s overdone, and it hasn’t risen as much as it’s supposed to. But they take it out of the oven together, and their hands brush against each other and linger at the contact. Its scent fills the air, a strong vanilla, and it’s lopsided and imperfect but still good, and Patton thinks, yes. Vanilla and possibility, and Janus’ smile, and he’s certain they’ll be baking together for a long time to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I can never decide which headcanon I like more, Patton being competent in the kitchen or Patton being a disaster in the kitchen. Which one I use in my fics varies wildly depending on the day. But this was super fun to write, so I hope y'all enjoyed!
> 
> I'm @whenisitenoughtrees on tumblr if you ever wanted to come say hi!


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